I let my nails grow.
I paint them with the pixie dust that fall from the fairies in my backyard.
I want to speak, but I learned a few things.
If I’m silent like a mouse, my hearing becomes sharper
And I’ll learn better than the mouth who hunts
all at once.

I let my grays grow.
I allow them their passage within my black strands like ornamental streamers
For they retell the wisdom that teaches how darkness beds with the light.
Do you like absence?
It’s where we find ourselves, stark and naked
built like the sacred nature of trees.

The world is beautiful,
but they didn’t tell you this because they wanted to ruin it for you too.
The black magic of which we fight against.
A mashed-up world of thoughts and identities hide in the crisis
Of the bloodstream from all the things you were told, you believed you were not.

How can I tell you the world is beautiful?
We learn to appreciate it late. The wind, water, the rocks,
And the soil are boundless in a way where we can’t measure on earth
’til we leave this place. But, until then, let’s love the world today.

The fable of the world doesn’t exist.
Ask the hologram of his kiss.
The dreams we dreamt evaporated.
Ask the schemes of the advocated.
The blindfold is fool’s gold.
Ask time; it never grows old.

And although nothing can stay
I wish you were here today.

The moment arrives and befalls.
Like the highs and lows of cholesterol.
The things I wish for are transient.
Like the ambiance of accidents.
The faith in my chest is insoluble.
Like consolation in the uncontrollable.

And although nothing can stay
I wish you were here today.

The memories spin on its own axis.
And feelings give way to its blackness.
The wind whispers your sweet name.
And I’m allowed to say hi without blame.
The seasons change vast and fluid.
And warm and cold weather are reputed.

It’s your birthday month. Will someone bring on the Bacardi rum? I no longer feel the sun since you’ve been gone.

I want you to trouble me, puzzle, muscle and rebuttal me. I want you to disturb me, discern, immerse and return to me. I want you to haunt me, taunt, flaunt and want me.

I think I found love with you. I spoke to mourning doves about you. I swear I found a home with you. I even ask the honeycomb on my altar about you.

I think I found wholesomeness with you. I’ve been at homelessness without you. I swore I kissed the skies when I was with you. I even ask my thighs why they cry now that I’m without you.

You put a love inside me I can’t get rid of and at times, you were my antidepressant drug, the one I sometimes dream of handcuffed, strangely enough.

I’ve been cold since we both disappeared. I haven’t found my heart in two years. Won’t you appear with your childlike light in my sullen atmosphere?

I had a boyfriend who cared about me but he came with his own limits, his own gimmicks and every minute he’s attempting to disguise low spirits with a million cigarettes.

He’s nothing like you and you’re nothing him and that’s just one problem. You barely came with conditions or superstitious wishes, but you were the warmth and blood to my heart even when it rocked bottom.

And I look to the sky and I ask why. I look far and I look wide and the answers were because I cried honesty rather than decide to spend the night with pride. You made me work for forgiveness like I was some damn spy.

What if I asked you to send for me? What if I asked for your body? What if I admitted to my monstrosity? What if every fear we own were given to prophecy? Would it change the divinity of possibility?

I can’t forget the first glance that cemented our song and dance. I can’t clean the scent of your home from my hands. I can’t eradicate the taste of you from my throat glands.

What if I still loved you beyond this distance and chip on my shoulder? How am I to know when my heart froze that last time in October when my entire life as I knew was over?

I don’t want to teach. I don’t want a leech. I don’t want you hanging over my head like a gorgeous chandelier. I don’t want you knowing anything about my severe bipolar gears. I don’t want your arm wrapped around mine. I don’t pine when impermanence is exorbitant and stands like an almighty saint on my shrine.

I don’t want every moment to be bursting of sunrays. I don’t want to use you for every essay. I don’t want your breath around me twenty-four hours a day. I don’t want any part of your happiness or your pity party or blame. I don’t want to share our pains and heavy existential hurricanes. I don’t want to be the “ex” to your exclaim.

I’m not into pacts by blood or marriages and certificates. I’m not into the mothering and the smothering of willingness. I’m not into decreasing my space into a tiny box to suit anyone or anything because I am ubiquitous. I’m not into cuddles that make a person feel connected to humanity. I’m not into systems manufacturing normality. I’m not into turning a blind eye to lesser insanities.

I’m not into him and hers and the chest of drawers. I’m not into sacrificing my time and energy for you and yours. I’m not into folklore when trying to coexist has been known to set across great wars. I’m not into careless tongues that mouth everything undone. I’m not into romantic love and the drug it promises only once you dare to plunge. I’m not into the togetherness of us, but the individuality of one.

God. I apologize to everyone. I haven’t been inspired lately. I write on the side when I can (and I suppose I can put up all my Part 2 postings that were to be continued despite how awful they read?), but it’s hard to feel like I can write something blog-worthy and share it with the rest of you guys. I can only write from the heart or what I’m personally experiencing at the moment so I’ll share some recent events with you’s. How’s that? Thanks for reading!

*

I’ve been on an interesting ride these last few years when it comes to seeing therapists and psychiatrists. At the age of twelve I was diagnosed with Depression. I had old features, black circles under eyes, razor cuts on my arms and protruding ribs from starving myself at the time to show for it. However, decades later it seemed I’ve graduated a few years ago (2013) because now new psychiatrists and therapists have diagnosed me: Bipolar. This explains all the wicked instant mood swings, triggers that were really landmines and how come many of my relationships as well as friendships have failed.

Of course I debated with these so-called experts about nature and nurture because I’m suspicious of everything and everyone that isn’t me. I debated about all the things that come from my family’s blood and all the things that come from social disease and conditioning. Still, in the center I fought with myself and knew the truth: There were cracks in the instances and in between all these instances is where I was getting worse.

I’d go into subterranean dark places for leisure, fun and to isolate myself from the world. I’d write in essays, poems and prose my suicidal ideations which continued from childhood. I’d meet with a new friend called anxiety again and again and again questioning the past, present and future concerning everything that became (or was) broken. Was I going to make it another day in this physical realm? My other good friend (since I was 5) came knocking hard on my door and I’d go through all my cycles of chronic loneliness, hopelessness and meaninglessness and stare at the bottomless grief that arrives to taint and place a million holes in my mind, spirit and heart.

Those cracks in the instances became clear as well as my past history when I was going through one of my most tragic experiences at the age of 12 – signed over to two mental hospitals for over six months – I was fed medication for the supposed imbalances in my brain. First was Prozac, and then came Lithium. And of course, I didn’t agree with medication being fed to anyone less than 18 years of age, but my mother didn’t share the same views as her 12 year old. I had zero control as any kid does at that age and was subjected to doctor’s tests, special diets, wondering what was love and how did it look like and was it true I wasn’t normal and these two medications would be the cure everybody else was looking for?

Prozac made me hyper – so hyper that cartwheels became my favorite thing to perform. I couldn’t stop! However throughout the day I’d have hallucinations (of what? I don’t remember anymore – but I’m sure I wrote about it in a lost book for the universe to know) and during the night when I closed my eyes to go to sleep I’d have white flashes come over my eyes like strobe lights. And when I finally fell into deep sleep, the nightmares were horrible – once I dreamt of giving birth to a demonic alien baby. (Why would a 12 year old dream of having a baby?)

After the hyperactivity, doctors thought to give me Lithium because my grandmother took it and they had reason to believe it succeeded. (I’m not sure how?) But something tells me this was all a plot for me to lie on their silver platter to undergo a Spinal Tap procedure. Lithium had its own issues and the dosage was higher – I had to take it 3 times a day. With this medication came weekly blood work because mercury and other dangerous things a doctor wouldn’t inform you about were concerns. Then there were countless yeast infections my tiny body couldn’t handle. Lastly, long-term usage meant my kidney and thyroid would be altered, better yet, damaged to a degree in the future.

So every time a current psychiatrist or therapist would bring up the idea of medication to balance the chemicals in my brain – it’s not a wonder why I would say FUCK NO for years on end! But a few months ago before bringing on the New Year, I made one of the biggest decisions of my adult life and figured I’ll try medication to stabilize my moods and prevent sudden manic highs and lowly lows. The reason why I decided to try it is because I’m committed to fixing all aspects of myself.

Then again, who’s to say I need fixing if it’s not someone outside me like a relative, a partner or a societal authoritative figure who keeps claiming there’s something about me I need to fix?

Fitness is a big part of who I am. Regardless if I get some things right (training/mentality) and some things wrong (like nutrition or life’s hindrances) fitness is who I choose to be day in and day out. I understand fitness as work of continual progress. And because of this simple fact, fitness allows definite opportunities and rejuvenated methods to perpetually update the new you starting from the inside out or from the crown down. What is there not to love about that?

I see Fitness in everything I do from skipping the elevator and taking the stairs, to not having that second serving of pasta to practicing discipline when it matters most. Last year, and still to this day, it’s been a long journey for me. The old ways of motivation doesn’t work for me nowadays. I’m constantly battling against will, cautiousness and pain since my ankle isn’t 100% healed and I’m unclear if it’ll ever be. This will not stop me.

Fitness, time and time again has gotten me through many difficult moments from the death of relationships to anger management and iron therapy. And as long as I keep my head vibrant, my attitude with positive light, my heart full of grace, my training philosophy strong as a bull, and Gods intuition over my being — Fitness will never ever steer me wrong. I’m currently redefining every aspect of my life from love, friendships and spirituality to anything regarding fitness.

I’ll never forget how you left me solid cold at one of the hardest times of my life. I’ll never forget how you made everything about you when I was the one suffering from a broken ankle with no income and wondering where I was going to live. I’ll never forget how all those rare moments you sat by my side like when my mother died and you were just a body, never really there – on your phone all day disrespecting us at her wake. You were just a body, and so was I. I was your masturbation device for years, but we did start with love once upon a time – and this is still up for debate.

I’ll never forget the time when life brought to my attention how heartless you were – waiting at the clinic with me to have an abortion. And all you complained about was lack of sleep, yet I was faced with the decision of having a gargantuan life force taken out of me. And when we went back to my house, there was no mention of how I felt from what I had to do for the second time in my life. The truth is: You went right to sleep as if nothing happened because it didn’t happen to you. I’ll never forget about the first abortion either because you weren’t there when you could have taken the day off work to be with me. The truth again: You didn’t want to be there, and this was evident by the second experience. I’ll never forget how you made all my problems into something that was never yours to support or deal with.

Thank you for showing me how love was never meant to feel. Thank you for never being my rock and for never taking on anything you didn’t want to handle – at least this last part you were honest about. Thank you for letting me know that sex was the thing that kept you going and that you didn’t mind taking over and over again. Thank you for never protecting me in the ways I should have been. Thank you for never treating me like royalty. Thank you for your unnecessary amounts of selfishness. Thank you for showing me when it was time to walk out. Without this – I would’ve kept thinking this kind of love was normal, but it wasn’t love, and this behavior wasn’t normal in itself. Thank you. I’m at a better place now and in the care of a profound love.

This bird has outgrown many things in the past months from dying love, to cold friends and to the importance of new love and family. She’s even outdone her physical therapy vicinity and the assistance of their aids. There are always new things to learn, but the most crucial for birdie has been to take charge of her therapy (as she knew right from the beginning). Never allow others to dictate your weakness, strength or levels of success. You must always hold yourself accountable; for this is where the profound and strength of character lives.

The past two weeks birdie had been working with a new PT. She calls bird ma’am, yet thinks birdie is in her twenties rather than thirties. The unfortunate issue — is this new vibrant young lady came a little too late. Birdie both likes and appreciates her techniques and her promising nature. Birdie can sense the love this young flower has for her Physical Therapy work — and how it comes with new eyes, a thirst for knowledge, a keen ear, unstained years of senorioty rights and a clear vision of great passion.

What’s more unfortunate is this birdie is almost gone and is going to leave the Physical Therapy nest behind. She had a long run (4 months), and she didn’t agree with everything, and in some cases they actually hindered her (by overworking her and allowing her to sustain tendonitis in her foot). Still, birdie benefited in multiple ways like overcoming mental blocks and flying and getting out of the house. This birdie is going back home, to the religion, to the glitz, to the empowerment, to the intimacy and love of the gym because there’s more equipment that can be used to improvise.

Birdie can get to where she needs to be quicker (although patience is still the key as she’s no where near 100%) — for in winter, there are only so many ways one can handle the force knocking of the wind and friendly snow that turns to dangerous ice; not to mention the horrid rain outside. However, by the time spring comes; this little birdie will put all her hopes on the comfort of blue skies, delicate breeze and warm sunshine. 🙂

My voice is coming back.
I figured, I ironed my hair flat
Get on a straight groove
Create great moves.
Fuck the past!
There’s nothing there,
So, don’t ask.
My brother disappeared
To somewhere in Long Island
On autopilot
With a fat neurotic wife
Who handed my brother to her psychiatrist
Off like a diamond
Of over thirty years to see
Nothing that wasn’t there.
Now, he’s abandoned
The only family affair
He’s ever had in thin air.
People should be placed under suspicion
Because life is stranger than fiction.
My mother died,
A few months ago
And it was an unpleasant surprise.
All the memories
That mattered
Did not
Because subplots rot
And you never thought
The ending was euphoric
Or that the present could be historic
In all the future
Things you will ever do
Or never not put in review.
I’m no longer scared of anything.
I experience all the good and bad
And come out tougher
And freer living on
Life’s golden wings.